The Boyfriend

AOG, Barcelona

I am not an expert on relationships, nor am I an expert on human relations. I know I will depart this planet having learned precious little about our species. With this in mind, I must bring up what just happened on the way to the Airport. 

I got on a bus from Plaça Catalunya, and headed out, hoping to make it on time (no, I don't know what it is about me which makes me always run late). 

About a minute after the bus departed, the man behind me got a phone call. 

I tried not to eavesdrop but it was hard since he was talking in a normal voice, and my ears were a few inches below his cell phone. 

His girlfriend/boyfriend had called and was saying good bye. She/he was mostly in tears, and was sad by this guy's departure. 

I never heard his/her voice, but I could hear full well how the man behind me spoke to his lover. 

I must say that I found it very hard to believe that this guy loved the other person. He was not rude, nor nasty, nor was off-putting (much). But his good-bye sounded like a continuous apology. 

"I'll be back soon"

"I'll call you from Madrid"

"I love you too"

"Don't cry darling"

Perhaps he too was in pain. I'd like to think he was if he really loved the person on the other side of the phone line. Perhaps I misjudged the entire episode.

But, for my money, he was not as sad as the other person. I am not entirely sure about why I think this, but there was just something in his tone of voice. 

A lack of interest, maybe fatigue? I also have no idea what it is he may have to face when he gets back home. Maybe that affected his mood. 

He would sprinkle his conversation with Italian words here and there, bacci, ti amo, things like that. But they were just not said in a true enough way for me. Was the other person Italian? I'll never know. 

He was from Argentina, so maybe that is just how he spoke to people. 

As you know, many Argentinians have Italian ancestry, so it is not unusual for them to use Italian words now and then.

Am I being misanthropic? Perhaps. 

Perhaps this guy is fantastic, but he came across as the flower, not the gardener. Is this necessarily bad? No.

It is a mutual dependency that between a flower and his gardener, but he just seemed like a slightly impertinent flower at times. 

Especially the second time the other person called back and, yes, unfortunately, he complained. 

In a low voice, almost apologetically, but complain he did. It was obvious that he did not want that second call. 

It was much less welcome than the first one. True, I have no clue what was going through his head at the time. Maybe he faces some horrid tribulation. I don't know.

What I do know, is that the tone of voice was, unfortunately (for me) much too familiar. It cut just a little bit close to the bone. 

I too have heard in the past that "I love you but I'm busy" tone of voice. 

"I love you but you are calling at the wrong time". 

"I love you but I already said good-bye at the station". 

"I love you but darling you are making me spend money every time it cuts off and I get your voicemail". (Actual part of the conversation)

All of those 'I love you's' that come with a caveat.

Fortunately for me, I learned very quickly that "ILYB" (I love you...but) really translates as "I love me, period", and that you are just a passing flight of fancy. 

Something to keep them entertained for now, but which costs them no great emotional investment. 

Perhaps I am being too cynical. But this guy just sounded a little bit bored, a little bit busy, a little bit insincere.

When the bus got to the airport, part of me did not really want to look at him. I thought the aural experience had been enough. But as I put my backpack over my shoulders I did look at him. And I was surprised by what I saw. 

His voice was that of a much younger man. But his age really threw me aback. Late 40s, maybe early 50s. His appearance was scruffy: jean jacket, jeans, unshaven, greasy hair across his forehead. In other words, an adult, middle-aged male who looked like a thin version of Burt Reynolds with lung cancer.

I was surprised because I usually think that by that age, men are pretty well sorted. 

And if not, woe be to him/her who falls for one of these sad Lotharios. I left the bus, and tried not to see anymore of him. 

I wasn't upset, but I was intrigued by his whole "performance" on the phone.

Why lie? Why go through all that trouble? Why not just be honest, especially to yourself? Would he be coming back from Buenos Aires to see his lover? Probably. 

He said he'd see the other person on the 31st. 

Of what? Of never?

Young at heart (old at flesh)

AOG, London

It would appear that every time I go to London I have an ok time.  Just.

Unfortunately, given the pressures of modern life, I have not long ago realised, that a weekend in London, though very glamorous sounding, is actually 2 evenings, and one and a half (or a third), days in the British capital.

I normally fly out on Friday night after work, arrive in Gatwick at some ungodly hour, then rush to Victoria Station on the next-to-last Gatwick Express (almost ₤15.00 these days!).

 

Once there, I normally enjoy all day Saturday, which I spend visiting galleries, museums, and try to catch a show on the evening. 

Not always, but normally I achieve some sort of cultural hiatus during the visit.

 

Amongst all of this cultural froth, I have to pencil in meeting with Madame Mère at some point, as well as the odd friend here and there for coffee in Soho somewhere (somewhere means Costa Café on Compton street).

 

This last time I was there, something I had not seen in ages reared its ugly head. 

As I waited for a couple of friends, next to me I noticed a very handsome guy in his 40s who was dressed -at first sight- youthfully. As I waited for my tardy friends, some of his friends showed up.

 

It was the usual “hey”, “kiss”, and recap on the weekend’s events. I began to notice, slowly, that this man, in his 40s, was verbally cavorting with guys in their 20s. 

Nothing wrong there, half of my improv class in Madrid is in their 20s and I feel like their father sometimes. 

But it was not as innocent as all that.

 

It soon occurred to me that, upon closer inspection, this man was not dressed “youthfully”, he was dressed like a male Britney Spears. I noticed this when he got up to air kiss one of his friends. There it was, a mid 40s bare navel. 

He also acted very like la Spears: Bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch; non stop.

 

Nothing wrong there, except that not only was he trying to look like a teenager, he was trying to talk like one too. But I was ok with that too (I from the “let and let live” school of life).

 

The thing that most ruffled my feathers was that the content of his whole conversation was drugs; and partying; and going to this club or that club and being off his face. 

I thought to myself that this is the kind of conversation best reserved to real guys in their 20s, not 40 year olds attempting to hold on to their youth, ça n’importe quoie! (no matter what).

 

He was handsome enough to pull off looking like a teenager, albeit only just and then only because Halloween is nigh, but he was not young enough to pull off teenage speak. 

That is where he blew it. He sounded ridiculous. And this made him, in turn, look ridiculous.

 

And, invariably, I began to think about myself and my friends (all in our mid to late 30s). 

About how we speak, what we say, how we dress, how we sound and look.

 

When my friends arrived, I inspected their clothes. 

Youthful, but more like trendy (Yes, A&F but subdued). I listened to their (our) speech, (no talk about drugs, but the occasional fashion rebuff and odd bit of trivia). 

And I figured that we were about average within our age group and generation.

 

So, of course, I wasted no time in pointing out our "young" neighbour but before I could explain what was his ‘biscuit’, one of my friends looked at me and said in a low tone “Does he think he’s 15?”

I was vindicated. 

I was not alone in being slightly, and gayly, outraged.

Given that the trip was so short, I had no time to introspectively discover, or excuse, why that guy was so out of touch with himself.